But Your Kiss Won't Leave Me Be
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "You've Got an Evil Wicked Way About You." Dean Ambrose is unsure how to proceed with Molly Parker, and it's driving him to distraction. Will he come up with a suitable plan before he does something he regrets?
1. Chapter 1

In spite of the night's successes, Dean Ambrose was having a difficult time falling asleep.

He took another deep drag off of the cigarette in his hand, his eyes focused on the ceiling but not seeing the cracked, dirty plaster; he was seeing, instead, the fluttering brown eyes of Molly Parker when he had brought her to the ultimate place of pleasure.

His lips twitched upward slightly before falling back into a thoughtful frown.

It was a good start, but nothing more than that. He'd made her aware of what he could do for her. He'd made her aware of her latent sexual desires, and he had connected himself to them in an undeniable way.

The question became how he should proceed from here. He had briefly considered if he even wanted to proceed – his original objective had been met; he'd shown her that she was no better than he was – but the memory of her pressed against him made that decision quickly.

He wanted more.

He shook his head, attempting to dissipate those thoughts of her and the inevitable lust that swelled with them, and focus on the problem before him.

The way he saw it, he had two potential options. The first was to simply fuck her and be done with the matter. Quick, easy, and painless. Well, for him. He knew that this was the intelligent way to handle the situation, but he found that he wasn't willing to pursue this option just yet. The second was to continue this gentle assault, these little encounters, until she lusted after him just as much as he did her. Then she would give herself to him.

Unfortunately, he didn't believe that would work. She wasn't going to give in because he made her come a few times.

He sighed heavily, bringing his cigarette back to his mouth. "You're a tough one, Molly May," he murmured around it while he inhaled. "What should I do with you?"

Any other time he'd wanted a woman, it hadn't been a problem. He considered himself an attractive man, and he had the added benefit of being able to be charming for short periods of time. That was usually enough.

He realized now what a stupid mistake he'd made the first night he met her. She was wary of him now, and wouldn't be receptive at all to any friendly advances. He initially thought that this would pose no problem, and he was cursing his lack of foresight.

That and the ill-advised nonsense in her room. A small sound of self-disgust slid through his lips and he covered his weary eyes with his hand.

The diary had given him next-to-nothing. Only that she was angry at her father, and any fool could have seen that already. Perhaps the _depth_ of her anger was surprising, but ultimately useless to him.

He bit his lip. "Think," he muttered, slapping himself in the forehead. "Stop dwelling on those failures and focus on success."

After a few minutes, he simply gave up for the evening. All he could think about was how she had felt against his hand, and it was having a very distracting effect.

"Should have stopped at the whorehouse," he sighed, extinguishing his cigarette before unbuttoning his pants and kicking them aside to attend to his needs.

Miles away, in the Barrett household, a single lamp burned in Molly Parker's bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

She was still mildly stunned. After she had retreated to her room, listening to the sounds of his footsteps receding from her, she sat on the bed with her hands folded between her knees. Immediately, an uncomfortable reminder of what had just happened sprang on her when the wetness between her thighs spread.

She jumped up and quickly went about cleaning herself, changing into her sleepwear at the same time.

Her eyes filled with tears as she threw her dirty laundry in the basket. Once they arrived, there was no stopping them.

She now sat with her knees tucked to her chest on the bed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. Still trying to understand why she'd physically, if not mentally, enjoyed being touched by that disgusting man.

These thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Mr. Barrett's head poked around the corner. "You're still awake?" He stopped as he caught the sight of tears on her cheeks.

Molly quickly wiped them away. "Just getting ready for bed," she said with false cheeriness.

Mr. Barrett's eyes narrowed. "Can I come in for a moment?"

She tried to smile at him. "Of course."

He made his way to the chair beside her bed and folded his long body into it. "What's troubling you?"

She shook her head. While it would have been wise to tell Mr. Barrett about Mr. Ambrose's behavior, the memory of his threat hung over her head. She didn't want to risk angering him enough to act on those threats.

Mr. Barrett was quiet for a few moments. "Did seeing the men in tough shape disturb you? I can assure you, they're all going to be fine. They've suffered much worse." He paused, attempting to gauge her mood. She said nothing, but tears still streamed down her cheeks.

"Molly," he said gently, and she finally looked at him. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth and then looked away again. She truly didn't know what possible excuse to give him for her behavior.

After a few moments, he stood. She thought that he was going to leave, but instead he sat beside her on the bed. Cautiously, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, weary, she rested against his chest.

"You can tell me anything," he said, his voice rumbling against her ear. He was so warm; his heart beating strongly and steadily beneath her ear was soothing. "I won't be angry with you. You're in a safe place now; this is your home."

That brought tears to her eyes again and she swallowed hard. "Would you believe," she said after a few moments, "that I actually miss that miserable hole I used to live in?"

She was lying, of course, but thought it might be the most plausible explanation.

"Yes," he replied promptly, his fingers lightly stroking her shoulder. "That was your home, with your family. Flawed as they might have been, they're still a part of you." He paused. "You don't have to live here, you know."

She sat up immediately, horrified at the thought. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I like it here. I truly do. I just…had a moment this evening. It will pass."

He managed to contain his smile, but barely. "I'm glad to hear that. We…I…enjoy having you here." He reached out and lightly brushed her hair out of her face, his stomach fluttering nervously. He suddenly realized how entirely inappropriate this was, and stood up.

"I'll leave you to get some rest," he said quickly. "I should turn in myself."

She smiled at him, and it was more natural than her other attempts. He felt relieved for that, in spite of the self-chastisements swirling through his brain. They said their goodnights, and he retreated to the sofa, although he would be unable to sleep for some time.

For Molly, however, sleep finally came. As she rested her head on the pillow, she could have sworn she was hearing the sound of Mr. Barrett's heart beating beneath her ear once more. Smiling, she drifted off into pleasant dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Ambrose had suffered through a miserable nights' sleep, his dreams filled with only Molly Parker. He woke with still no inkling on how to broach the situation, and that, combined with the lack of sleep, put him in a foul mood.

With little hope for the day, he approached the Barrett household. Of course, today would be the day Barrett required a meeting with him. It simply wouldn't wait until he wasn't plagued with doubt and uncertainty.

He swept into the house, noticing how Molly avoided his gaze. 'Well fine,' he thought bitterly, and ignored her right back. He found that his inability to decide how to handle the situation made him unreasonably angry towards her.

It was with this overarching emotion that he went into his meeting and suffered through a half hour of more meticulous questioning and careful consideration. It made him want to vomit.

"We beat the piss out of each other," he finally snapped. "No rules. What's the difficult part of this concept?"

Barrett regarded him coolly. "The difficult part is attempting to predict if it will sell."

Ambrose felt a grin slip onto his face. "Oh it'll sell," he replied. "Violence like that appeals to the darker side of all of us…the animalistic side. People will be drawn to it."

Barrett was still chewing his lip thoughtfully. "I'd like to take more time…."

"Of course you would," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Always, more time." He stood up abruptly. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

"I'm afraid you don't have many other options."

"Not yet. But I will. I have a way of getting what I want, Mr. Barrett," he sneered. "And I'll get this, with or without your help."

"Be very careful," Wade cautioned. "You don't want to say something you'll regret."

Ambrose closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Of course not," he answered with his eyes still shut. "You'll have to excuse me; I didn't sleep well last night and I'm a bit more on edge than usual."

The room remained in tense silence for a few moments before Barrett spoke again. "Another time, then. We can discuss this at a later date."

Ambrose balled his fists up and released them quickly. He didn't _want_ to discuss this at a later date; he wanted Barrett's backing _now_. He was smart enough to realize, however, that it wouldn't be coming today. And, if he continued on this path, it may not be coming at all.

Instead, he quickly said his thanks and left immediately, looking forward to the day when he wouldn't have to swallow his pride for the man.

As he walked out, rubbing his temples, he nearly collided with his other problem – Molly, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"What?" He growled in her general direction. His head was pounding with such pain that it was affecting his eyesight.

"N-nothing," she stammered and attempted to continue on her way.

His hand shot out and wrapped tightly around her arm. In contrast to his first encounter with her this morning, now that he had her in his sight he didn't want to let her leave.

He didn't know what he would say until the words fell out of his mouth. "Do I frighten you?"

"No," she replied boldly through quivering lips.

He smiled, although it came across as more of a contemptuous sneer. "I should. Don't forget that. Don't you dare."

He stared at her for a moment before releasing her arm and stalking away, feeling good for the first time in this hellacious morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly attempted to shake off the latest encounter with Mr. Ambrose by throwing herself into her work once more. It was becoming a habit, she thought wryly. Mr. Barrett would expect such fervor from her all the time.

She made her way into the study and found Mr. Barrett's tangle of blankets and pillow on the sofa. Her heart sank slightly – he was still sleeping here. She must have really caused him some trouble, and that was a miserable thought indeed.

With great care, she folded the blankets and fluffed the pillow to place on top. She wouldn't put them away just yet – she didn't want him to have to go searching for them if he was sleeping here again this evening.

Not that he looked like he was getting much sleep in any case. The circles under his weary eyes grew darker every day.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. Why did the good men of the world receive all the punishment, while the wicked were able to enjoy the rewards? It didn't seem right.

She quickly reminded herself that she knew little of Mr. Barrett, and that sleeping on the sofa was not the worst possible punishment in the world. And yet, she found herself angered by any inconvenience he suffered.

She sighed heavily. Why must she always insist on being the caretaker of some troubled man? She consciously avoided the role, and yet always seemed to slip back into it without notice. Without rational thought, she punched at the fluffed pillow angrily. Why was she such a fool? Why did she end up in the same situations over and over again?

"Did my pillow offend you in some way?"

She turned to see Mr. Barrett regarding her curiously, and she managed a thin smile. "No. I'm sorry. I was…thinking of other things." She shook her head. "I let my temper get the best of me."

His smile melted into a bit more natural expression. "Happens to all of us," he said easily, sitting at his desk and running his hand back through his hair. She tried to ignore the way her heart stuttered in her chest.

"Would you like me to put these away for you?" She asked, gesturing towards the pillow and blanket in a vain attempt to be able to leave the room.

"A bit optimistic of you, don't you think?" He replied, although his voice was gentle. "This is where I sleep, Molly. It's where I'll probably sleep for the rest of my life now that you're here." She glanced at him curiously. "I used to sleep in your bed," he explained.

Those words shot a white-hot bolt of emotion through her, although which emotion it was she would have been hard-pressed to identify by name.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she stammered. "Would you like it back? I can sleep here."

He shook his head. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel as if it was troublesome. I told you that as a way to explain my situation to you." The expression on his face hardened slightly. "Why does that bother you so much when it doesn't bother me?"

She stood for a moment, frozen, unsure of how to respond.

Finally, when the silence became unbearable, she primly took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "It was actually what I was thinking about when you came in," she admitted. "I don't understand why good men are made to suffer and wicked men are able to enjoy the good of the world. It troubles me."

"As it troubles everyone," he replied. "I don't want you to feel any pity for me, Molly. I made my bed." He glanced at the blankets beside her. "Figuratively if not literally," he chuckled.

She managed to flash him a shy smile. "You're better than most men, taking this the way you do."

He shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid. I can choose to be angry, or I can choose to be happy with my lot in life. I choose happiness." He was surprised to see her glance away, obviously biting her tongue. "Out with it," he said, attempting to sound amused.

She bit her lip as she glanced at him, and his stomach clenched in a not-unpleasant way. "Choosing happiness is a wonderful decision," she said carefully. "But there is a difference between electing to be happy and allowing yourself to become complacent in a bad situation. You…you deserve better, sir. You _do_ know that, don't you?"

He could feel his smile become frozen on his face. "It's an interesting notion," he finally said cautiously. "It's one I'll give some thought. In the meantime, I believe we both have work to do?"

She nodded, quite obviously embarrassed, and made her way to the door.

"Molly," he said after a moment of internal debate, stopping her. She turned back to him, and he smiled at her. "I wish all women could be as kind as you are," he said before he really knew what he'd even intended to tell her. He looked down at his desk quickly, waving his hand towards the door and holding his breath as she walked out.

When he was alone, he threw his pen down on his desk and buried his hands in his hair.

"Seven Hells," he muttered to himself.

She was right.


	5. Chapter 5

Just outside the door, Molly took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

She couldn't believe what she'd just said. It was none of her business how Mr. Barrett lived his life, and it was certainly not her place to tell him how to do so.

"Stupid, stupid girl," she muttered, shaking her head. Her face felt uncomfortably hot. She closed her eyes and tried to shake away her embarrassment before returning to work.

The rest of their day would be more than a bit subdued. Mr. Barrett took care to avoid her, and she slept miserably that night with the nagging worry of having offended him pressing into her.

She was lost in the fog of these troublesome thoughts the following morning, and he didn't seem to be in a better temperament either. Although, truthfully, she thought it might have something to do with his company – another meeting with Mr. Ambrose, although he also had Mr. McIntyre and Mr. O'Shaughnessy with him.

She'd avoided thinking about Mr. Ambrose since their encounter yesterday morning. In truth, the one good thing about her embarrassing situation with Mr. Barrett was that it left little room for other thoughts.

She was careful this morning around Mr. Ambrose, although it appeared as if she didn't need to be. He was completely indifferent to her presence.

It was an odd change of pace, and in spite of her desire not to engage in further trouble, she did attempt to make herself conspicuous. He still did not react.

Curious.

Her work in that particular room done, she bustled away with a sad return to thoughts of how to fix the relationship between herself and Mr. Barrett.

Ambrose watched her leave and finally allowed a small smile to form on his lips.

This was another little game he'd come up with as he had attempted – and failed – to fall asleep last night. That was an occurrence that was starting to happen far too often for his liking, although it did on occasion lead to strokes of brilliance such as this one.

He acted as if nothing had happened between them. He acted, in fact, as if she wasn't even in the same room. He wasn't unfriendly towards her; he also wasn't displaying any interest in her. He was acting completely indifferent to her presence.

And it was quite obviously driving her absolutely insane.

His foul mood had returned only moments after he had left the house yesterday morning. Between the lack of sleep, Barrett's infuriating indecisiveness, and his own inability to decide on a course of action – it put him in one of his blackest moods yet. If only he could solve _one_ of these problems, he might be in a better position to solve the others.

The thought was so sudden and so perfect – he was astounded that it took him as long as it had. What had he always done following intimacy? Left. And what had his cohorts done? Thrown themselves at him in a vain attempt to regain his attention. It seemed to be something within the female psyche, and he was counting on the fact that Molly had that same quirk.

So far, it appeared as though she did.

He tried, and failed, to keep the smug smile off of his face. One problem down. She would be throwing herself at him within days. Then he could finally be rid of her for good.


	6. Chapter 6

The last few days had been full of overwhelming realizations for Wade Barrett.

The first, and most pressing, was that his life was indeed in an unsatisfactory condition and he could no longer ignore this. The second was that he had not one iota of love – truthfully, not even a scrap of affection – left for his wife. The third and fourth were absolutely related, and they were that he had a great deal of affection for his new housekeeper…and that she had to leave his employ. The sooner, the better.

He didn't understand how he could have grown to care about her in the few days he had known her. She was lovely, but he was never so drawn to that quality in others. Intelligent, obviously. She worked incredibly hard.

She was like a flower growing out of a rock – unexpected beauty arising from harsh conditions. He admired her tenacity in overcoming her circumstances, and he realized that was certainly a part of her appeal.

Logically, he wanted to believe it was the fact that she was the polar opposite of his darling Mrs. Barrett that drew him to her. But he felt a gnawing sense of wrongness about that idea.

She respected him and cared for his well-being, unlike his wife. She was providing him something that had been missing in his life. That was all, he thought firmly. And he didn't need any temptation to behave dishonorably.

Molly needed to go.

He sighed, his heart heavy. He didn't want to let her go. His damnable ego.

"It's more than that," he muttered unconsciously. But he shook the thought away. It couldn't possibly be anything more than that – he refused to allow it to be anything more than that.

He sat, brooding, for several minutes before Molly arrived unexpectedly and forced him into action.

"I'm sorry," she said uncertainly as a way to announce her presence.

"Molly," he said, with a sad smile. "I was just thinking about you."

She looked embarrassed. "I hope it wasn't about how terribly I was behaving yesterday. I am…I deeply regret my intrusion."

His heart started pounding. "You were only doing what you felt was right. You obviously care for my comfort, and I thank you for that." He paused, his brain screaming at him to say the words. "I don't have many friends," he admitted instead. "I'm very much used to being alone and caring for myself. It's a strange notion to have someone else worried for me. I wasn't sure how to take it when you expressed your concern."

She managed a shy smile. "I understand. After all, you did the same for me when I arrived here."

His grin felt more natural this time. He was being foolish. The affection he felt towards her was merely natural kinship. The weight that had been on his shoulders was suddenly lifted.

"I'm glad that we can be friends, Molly," he said.

She nodded. "I am as well." She paused. "I haven't really had a friend before."

His heart dropped in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. He stood and wrapped her in a warm embrace. "Then we'll both learn as we go, I suppose," he said, lightly pressing his lips to the top of her head.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly left Mr. Barrett's study with her heart afloat.

She had been so worried that their contact yesterday had led Mr. Barrett to dislike her, and she found that she was grateful to learn the opposite was true.

He cared for her. She had a friend.

For the first time in her life, she had a friend. And he was a good friend; a kind and intelligent man whose company she enjoyed. She could scarcely believe her luck.

To her amazement, she felt a few tears streaming down her cheeks. She shook her head, wanting to laugh. She hadn't been so emotional until she'd arrived here. Most days she simply couldn't believe her good fortune, and today was a special day indeed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely registered the presence of Mr. Ambrose, who was awaiting another meeting with Mr. Barrett and was doing his best to be conspicuous and appear indifferent at the same time – a new challenge for him.

He was immensely displeased to note that his efforts were futile.

His lip curled in frustration. She hadn't been pretending not to see him; she actually hadn't seen him. That was _not_ how this was supposed to happen.

Who, exactly, did she think she was?

His fists clenched tightly by his sides. She thought that she could just _ignore_ him? She thought that he would simply vanish? Hadn't she learned her damn lesson the night he'd brought her here? He was not a man who took well to being ignored.

"Bitch," he growled, feeling his fingernails bite into his palms as a black rage overtook him.

He stalked around the corner, intending to catch up to her and _make_ her see him. He stopped short when he saw her hastily wiping her face from the few tears that had trickled down her cheeks.

"Mr. Ambrose," she said, as if she was surprised to see him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He tried not to smile at the way her voice shuddered and little sniffles punctuated her words. Through the still-dense fog of his anger, he felt a bolt of relief.

She hadn't been unaffected by his presence after all. He forced himself to feel a bit of pity for her – he really was hurting the poor girl.

"I'm looking for Mr. Barrett, Molly," he said, attempting to be gentle with her. "We have business to discuss."

"He's in his study," she replied. "Would you like me to let him know that you're here?"

He shook his head. "No, love. I'll go see him now."

She nodded uncertainly before turning and slowly continuing on her way. Ambrose watched her retreating figure with a small smile.

He might have her in an emotional state, but she was going to have to be the one to come to him.

"And you will," he whispered, staring intently at her shrinking form with his tongue snaking out through his lips. Grinning, he bit down on it, relishing the small jolt of pain that followed. "You will. Believe _that_, my Molly May."

Feeling immeasurable satisfaction that one problem had been solved, he moved on to tackle another.


	8. Chapter 8

"I've given it some thought," Barrett said, chewing on his cheek.

"_Some_ thought?" Ambrose replied, raising an eyebrow. Wade chose to ignore him.

"I'd like to start offering the opportunity for one of your style of fight during our fight nights. We can see how the crowd will respond, we can see if we have men willing to even participate, and we can decide where to go depending on both of those factors." He glanced up at Ambrose. "_If_ we elect to do this, you'll be doing all the legwork for it. I'll be a silent partner."

Ambrose could barely contain his smile. Everything was, quite simply, going his way today.

"I understand," he replied, attempting to sound serious and thoughtful. In truth, he was simply giddy. He would finally – _finally_ – be able to get rid of some of his pent-up aggression.

"I want us to move this along slowly," Wade cautioned. "I want to see if it catches on."

"It will," Ambrose replied, trying very hard to keep his tone reassuring instead of annoyed. "You'll be surprised at how quickly it does. In the States –"

"We aren't in the States," Barrett interrupted him. "This is an entirely different population, which is what I've been trying to tell you."

Ambrose froze for a moment. "No," he agreed, thinking how it would be perfectly acceptable to shoot Barrett for his disrespect in his home country. "No, we certainly are not."

He quickly pulled back his caustic comments. He was so close to getting what he wanted; and his mouth could take it all away. He needed to be cautious.

"I still think that it will be a profitable venture," he recovered smoothly. "And I believe you'll see that result."

Barrett nodded, although his face remained sober. "Truthfully," he said slowly, "I'm doing this as a favor to you. Because I need a favor _from_ you as well."

Ambrose tried to keep his surprise from registering on his face. "I'm listening," he said carefully.

"We're going to have a visitor in a few weeks. I just received word. The man was a champion in your part of the world – supposedly, he's undefeated."

Ambrose felt his stomach drop. No. It couldn't be.

"Who is it?"

"His name is Alberto del Rio."

Relief flooded over him. "I've heard the name," he replied after pretending to consider it for a moment. "Mexican champion. Our paths never crossed." 'Thankfully,' he added mentally.

"He wants our best while he's here."

It took Dean a moment to figure out what Wade was asking. He grinned. "You want me to beat the tar out of a Mexican champion as your favor?"

"I think we should show him how tough our men are," Barrett answered cautiously. "Rumor has it that he's been saying no one can beat him."

Ambrose laughed. "Well. I like proving men like him wrong."

Barrett nodded. "That's what I'm counting on. So be ready."


	9. Sequel

Thank you for reading, reviewing, tweeting, favoriting, following, and everything you do to let me know you're reading!

The next part is up and is entitled "There's No Medicine That Can Fix That Mind." I hope you enjoy.


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